


Arson and Ashes

by Zai42



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Everyone lives, F/M, Temporary Character Death, back from the dead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-03-30 05:11:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13943364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zai42/pseuds/Zai42
Summary: Agnes wasn't supposed to wake up, but here she is.





	1. Strawberries

Agnes woke up with her head spinning and the groggy awareness that she should be dead. She remembered the ritual, but even aside from that--her death was what she had lived for. It was her destiny--her _purpose._ Had something gone wrong? Had she, after all these long years, somehow failed? The thought sent a jolt of panic through her and she sat bolt upright with a gasp. The cool air of the room hit her bare arms, raising gooseflesh along them and--wait. Was she cold? She lifted her arm to examine the skin, touching her fingers to it.

  
Agnes didn't even notice someone else had entered the room until they spoke: "Oh, you're awake." She jumped, looking around to see a tall, wiry man in a leather trenchcoat kicking shut a door. He was carrying several grocery bags, which he dumped unceremoniously on a table. It looked, now that Agnes was actually looking, as if they were in a hotel room. Whoever the man was, he had apparently closed the blinds before he'd left her to...sleep? "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. You doing all right?"

  
"I'm _cold,"_ Agnes blurted out. She and the man stared at each other for a long moment. She held up her arm to show him.

  
"Do you...want the blanket from my bed?" the man asked, sounding unsure of himself.

  
"I've never been _cold._ I didn't think I could be."

  
"Well," the man said, turning to rummage through the grocery bags, "now you can be."

  
"Did I die?"

  
The man ignored her, instead putting away a jug of milk in the mini-fridge under the television. "I'm Gerard, by the way," he said. "Nice to meet you." He paused by her bed, holding out his hand for her to shake. She eyed it suspiciously. "You just said you were cold," he said.

  
Gingerly, she took his hand, bracing herself for screaming and the smell of cooking pork. It didn't come. Gerard shook her hand and then went about putting away groceries. Agnes alternated between watching him rearrange the contents of the fridge and gingerly touching different spots on her body to check their temperature. She didn't think she had a particularly good frame of reference; she felt colder than she'd ever been in her life, but it wasn't as if that was a high bar to clear.

  
"Do you want something to eat?" Gerard asked. He was holding a clamshell package of strawberries that Agnes suspected he couldn't fit in the fridge. Agnes hesitated, then nodded, though she immediately regretted slipping out from under the covers. The air felt frigid, and she was dressed only in a light nightgown.

  
Gerard watched her shiver for a moment before draping his coat over her shoulders. It was heavy and still warm with Gerard's body heat and Agnes clung to it. "I'm sorry about..." Gerard gestured in her general direction. "They didn't exactly dress you in the morgue, and that was the easiest thing to get you into. I tried not to look."

  
Agnes shrugged, one-shouldered, and plucked a bright, fat strawberry from the container. "I don't care," she said. "People have looked at me before. I'm just cold."

  
"You've said. There are clothes for you in the bathroom, whenever you want to change."

  
Agnes nibbled on her strawberry. It was sweet and fresh and completely lacked the ashy aftertaste she had grown so used to whenever she deigned to actually eat. It occurred to her that she was truly _hungry,_ for the first time in memory. She ate the rest of her berry in one bite and reached for another. "You took me from the morgue," Agnes said. "I did die, then."

  
"In a manner of speaking." Gerard pushed the container of strawberries over towards her. "I couldn't explain exactly what happened, but I think..." He paused, as if casting about for the proper words. "I think the End declined to take you, embroiled as you were with the Lightless Flame."

  
Agnes arched an eyebrow. "That," she said, "does not sound like the End at all." She bit decisively into another strawberry.

  
Gerard shrugged. "It's the best explanation I have, at the moment," he said. "You were certainly dead. It seems it simply...didn't take." He offered her his hand again, and Agnes took it without hesitation this time. "You aren't _actually_ cold--not more than a normal person in a chilly room, anyway. I couldn't tell you _what_ you are, now, but whatever grip the Desolation had on you has at least...loosened."

  
Agnes considered this, running her fingers absently over Gerard's upturned palm. She had always been in the grip of the Desolation. She had always been a conduit of great and terrible power, and the idea that it had left her was unnerving--but at the same time, it had been a long while since she had touched someone without searing the flesh from their blackening bones. Her--her followers, yes, but even they would melt beneath her blistering touch, their own flames like flickering candles before the inferno that raged inside her. And now she was holding Gerard's hand like it was nothing. He felt warm, even, compared to the cold she felt so keenly now.

  
She stood abruptly and went to change without a word. If Gerard found it rude, he didn't comment.

  
She ended up taking a shower so hot it made her skin go red, standing beneath the spray until it went cold. She wiped the mirror free of steam and examined her body. It looked much the same as she remembered it, but the skin didn't give in the same way when she pressed against it. There was a nasty purple bruise circling her neck--she touched it gingerly. She couldn't remember ever having a bruise before. It hurt when she pressed her fingers to it, but she had a suspicion that she had gotten off lightly. Well--of course she had. She'd died and yet here she was, fussing over the bruises her death had left behind.

  
Gerard had left her several possible outfits to chose from, as if he had wanted to get her something she'd like but wasn't sure what that would be. She settled on a the heaviest sweater in the pile, a thick floor-length skirt, and a pair of wool socks. The sweater had the advantage of a high neckline--it hid the bruising nicely.

  
Back in the room, Gerard was propped against the headboard of one of the beds, frowning at a laptop screen. "What day is it?" Agnes asked.

  
Gerard glanced up at her, then down at the laptop screen, presumably at the clock. "The 30th. A week since you died."

  
"How long was I...when did you..." Agnes gestured broadly.

  
"I got you out on the 26th," Gerard said. "You're lucky I did before they buried you--though who knows, maybe you'd have stayed dead if they did."

  
"How did you manage it?"

  
Gerard made a vague motion with his hand, his eyes drifting back to his screen. "I make friends," he said. "And you were in the morgue longer than usual, they were confused about the hand."

  
The hand. Presumably that was long gone. "My--my funeral?"

  
"Empty coffin. Luckily nobody really wanted an open casket."

  
That wasn't quite what Agnes had meant, but she couldn't bring herself to ask who had attended. If they had wept for her. She sat down on the bed. "Why did you do it?"

  
Gerard looked up at her, holding her gaze this time. "Curiosity," he finally said, once Agnes had started to become uncomfortable under his scrutiny. "Something is happening. Whether you're going to be a part of it or if you're finished with it, I want to see what will happen. And...you're interesting."

  
Agnes waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't, instead turning back to his laptop. She huffed softly and looked away, out the window. She could see the hotel parking lot a few stories below, and watched a family of five unpack a minivan. "What do I do now?" she asked. She didn't know if she was asking in earnest or just trying to fill the silence.

  
"Whatever you want," Gerard said, as if he had no idea the kind of weight those words carried. Agnes stared at him, trying to discern if he was making a joke at her expense. It didn't seem like he was.

  
"I--I've never--" she sputtered. "What--what are _you_ going to do?" she finally managed.

  
Gerard shrugged. "I should check in on my mother soon," he said. "She gets...antsy, if I don't drop in every now and then."

  
And suddenly everything clicked into place and Agnes let out an annoyed sound. "You're _Mary's boy,"_ she groaned. She pressed a hand to her head. "Dammit. Did she send you?" She twisted an arm up under her sweater to check the skin on her back.

  
"If I'd used the book, you would know," Gerard said, eyeing her over the top of his laptop. "And no. She and I...have our differences of opinion on certain matters. She doesn't care about you."

  
Agnes huffed. "Well, good," she grumbled. "Does she know what you did?"

  
Gerard shrugged. "Probably. I've done things she disapproves of far more, but she'd never stop me. Says it's _detrimental to my education."_ Gerard rolled his eyes, and for a moment he reminded Agnes of nothing so much as a petulant teenager. She wondered how much older than him she was.

  
"I've never done whatever I've wanted before," Agnes said, after a moment of silence. "I've always...I've always just done what I _needed_ to do, to fulfill my...destiny." She laughed, just a little. "Sounds rather melodramatic to say out loud. Though I suppose you're accustomed to melodrama, given your family tree."

  
"You have no idea," Gerard said flatly. "Well, now you can do whatever you like. Your destiny is fulfilled, and you even lived to tell about it."

  
"It seems like so much...pressure."

  
"You can start small." He tossed her a laminated list of nearby restaurants from the bedside table. "Here, pick somewhere and we'll go there for dinner. Just strawberries can't be that filling."

  
Agnes scanned the list, worrying her lip between her teeth. "I...I've never tried Moroccan food..." she said, feeling oddly hesitant.

  
"Would you like to?" Gerard asked.

  
Agnes took a deep breath, then nodded firmly. "Yes."


	2. Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agnes doesn't understand Gerard's motivations, or she understands them too well. Either way, he baffles her.

Agnes was picking at reheated leftovers when Gerard announced he would be going to visit his mother. They had been in the hotel for maybe four days--it had been surprisingly pleasant, once the initial strangeness of their situation had passed. Gerard let her chose what they ate every meal, and followed her around without complaint whenever she felt the urge to leave the hotel room and explore. She was starting to actively enjoy his company.

  
Still, she arched an eyebrow when he told her his plans. "You don't...expect me to go with you, do you?" Agnes asked, offering him her plate as he sat down at the table across from her.

  
"No." Gerard poked around the plate, but apparently didn't find anything appealing enough to actually eat. "I know my mother's popularity is...questionable. You can do whatever you want. Stay here, check out. Don't worry about money, I'll handle everything."

  
"If I leave, how will I find you again?"

  
Gerard cocked his head, regarding her curiously. "You'd want to?" he asked. Agnes frowned at him and nodded. "We'll go and get you a phone," Gerard said after a pause. "Like I said, money isn't an issue. You'll need to get one eventually, anyway."

* * *

 

"Why would you think I wouldn't want to find you again?" Agnes asked later, fiddling with the moving parts of her new phone. She stopped when it made a beeping noise at her. "I mean, you're all I really...have, now."

  
Gerard was silent, gazing up at the sky contemplatively. "I thought you might go find your old friends," he said, though with the tone of one realizing as he spoke that what he was saying was rather silly. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "Friends?"

  
Agnes didn't answer right away, mulling over the question. She knew, or thought she knew, what her...followers thought of her. They adored her, yes, but they had watched her die happily enough--they loved her, but she was kindling. They all were. As for what they meant to her...

  
"I don't know," Agnes said. "I don't think it particularly matters anymore. I won't be seeing them."

  
Gerard nodded. "All right. I'll call you when I'm done. It shouldn't be long."

* * *

 

It was three days before she finally saw Gerard again. Well, three and some change--and he didn't call, just stumbled into the dining room of their hotel, where Agnes was nursing a cup of coffee at two in the morning. He collapsed into the chair across from hers, and she arched an eyebrow at him, giving him a quick look up and down.

  
"You look awful," she said, by way of greeting, and it was true. His long hair was in tangles, his arms not through the sleeves of his coat, dark smudges beneath his eyes that had little to do with the days-old makeup still on his face.

  
"Visiting Mother is always..." Gerard trailed off, yawning widely. Agnes pushed her coffee over towards him and went to go make herself a new cup. She returned with a three packets of sugar and a single creamer, and watched placidly as Gerard dumped all that into his mug and downed his coffee in almost a single gulp. "Thank you," he said. His voice was rough.

  
"Do I want to know what she's having you do?" Agnes asked, running a finger along the edge of her mug.

  
"It's nothing," Gerard said, too quickly, like someone who was used to deflecting questions on the subject. "I'll be fine," he added, but his voice was tight and terse, less a comfort than a dismissal.

  
Agnes regarded him carefully. "Why do you help her?" she asked.

  
Gerard's fingers tightened around the handle of his mug. "Why did you hang yourself?" he snapped, then looked immediately mollified. "I--shit. Sorry. That was...cruel."

  
"People have said much crueler to me," Agnes said, shrugging one shoulder. They sat in silence for a moment, and Agnes sipped at her coffee, disappointed to discover it had gone cold. She stood, drained her cup, and stretched until the vertebrae in her spine popped. "I'm going back to the room," she said, and left before Gerard could respond.

  
He caught up to her at the stairwell, and she smiled at him.

* * *

 

Gerard took a very long shower once they were back in the room, and when he finally emerged halfway through tugging a T-shirt over his head, Agnes found herself staring. His torso was crisscrossed with pale scar tissue and marred by fresh bruises, and in the brief moment before he covered himself up, Agnes almost felt she could read them, that they formed the strokes of words of a language she could almost understand if she just focused--

  
"Hey," Gerard said, and Agnes shook herself, meeting his eyes once more. He looked a little better with his hair swept back from his face and his skin flushed from the steam of the shower, but the shadows under his eyes were still there.

  
"What is she doing to you?"

  
"What did you do while I was out?" Gerard asked, ignoring her completely as he sat on the bed and flicked on the television.

  
Agnes frowned, but let it go and shrugged one shoulder. "Not much. Went shopping one day. Shouldn't you sleep?"

  
"Don't want to," Gerard said. He flipped through the channels so quickly that Agnes doubted he could even see what was on. "What did you buy?"

  
"Silly things,"Agnes said. She blushed faintly, thinking of it. "Clothes. Um. Makeup." He glanced at her, one eyebrow arching. "I--I never--it would melt," Agnes said, covering her face with one hand. "God, that's ridiculous, isn't it? I _died_ two weeks ago--"

  
"It isn't ridiculous," Gerard said. "Do you want me to do your makeup?"

  
Agnes peered at him through her fingers, trying to determine if he was making fun of her. He was looking back at her, television remote forgotten on the bed. "Yeah," Agnes said, not lowering her hands. "I don't want to sleep, either."

  
They sat across from each other on one of the beds, the television lowered to quiet background noise. Gerard fished through the bag of drugstore makeup Agnes had blindly thrown together--she hadn't been sure about colors or brands or even what half the products were actually for, but Gerard seemed to know what he was doing, reading labels and setting aside bottles with an air of certainty.

  
His hands were surprisingly gentle as he tilted her head to get a better angle. "...I've never really done this to anyone but myself," he admitted. "So uh, don't judge me too hard."

  
"I have no frame of reference," Agnes murmured, trying not to move her face too much as Gerard began to apply something to her cheeks.

  
It was strange, to be touched so intimately by someone who put no force or demand into his touch. She was used to cruelty and to reverence, but not to--this. Whatever it might be. Kindness maybe--she had no frame of reference.

  
"Close your eyes?"

  
It only occurred to her after the fact, as Gerard was putting the finishing touches on her eyeliner, that she never would have obeyed such a request from the likes of him even a month ago. It would have made her feel vulnerable. She didn't, now.

  
"Okay," Gerard said, sounding a touch uncertain. "I think I'm done."

  
"Do I look ridiculous?"

  
"I don't think so. Go look for yourself."

  
The lights over the bathroom mirror were harsh, but Agnes still preened, pleased with the smokey greys and blacks Gerard had painted her eyes with. "You'll have to teach me," she said, leaning out into the room, watching Gerard put away the makeup bag.

  
"Just...don't sleep in it."

  
"Still don't want to sleep at all."

  
Gerard hesitated, glanced from her to the clock on the bedside table. "We could get breakfast," he said. He offered her a faint grin. "Show you off somewhere."

* * *

  
  
The diner was almost entirely empty; a shriveled old man sat at the counter, his fingers tapping nervously against his coffee cup, and a student had spread out her textbooks in a corner booth, but other than that, the place was deserted. Agnes ordered another cup of coffee and a blueberry muffin; Gerard scanned the menu and finally just got a cup of tea.

  
"You're never going to sleep if you keep drinking coffee," Gerard said. "I don't--"

  
He cut off abruptly, frowning at something over Agnes' shoulder. She glanced behind her; just the old man, stirring sugar into a fresh cup of coffee. When she turned back to Gerard, he had already slid out of the booth, muttering a brief apology under his breath. Agnes settled against the wall, peering over the back of the booth to watch him approach the old man. He started as Gerard slid into the seat next to him; Agnes couldn't see Gerard's expression from where she sat, but the old man looked increasingly panicked. He wrapped his hands around his mug to stop their shaking.

  
There was a brief, intense conversation--the old man stammered, shaking his head violently, and finally bolted with surprising agility when Gerard laid a hand on his shoulder. Gerard watched him go, sighed, and left a small pile of cash on the counter before returning to Agnes.

  
"What was that?" Agnes asked, eyeing Gerard over the rim of her cup.

  
He sighed again. "He's...marked. The Web. I tried to warn him, but..." He gestured absently. "I don't know if it helped."

  
"Do you do that often?"

  
"When I can."

  
"Why?"

  
Gerard gave her a look. "Same reason you're here."

  
"Curiosity doesn't explain meddling with every hapless human you see."

  
Gerard glanced away, squeezing his teabag. "Maybe not," he said. "But nobody else is going to do it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I'm gonna write a plotty multi-chapter fic for this ship!  
> Me four months later: Half my plot's been completely jossed and I just realized I had gotten huge swathes of the timeline wrong but ???

**Author's Note:**

> This fandom will be the end of me. Probably plot in later chapters ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
